


Doubles

by paladinpalindrome



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Discussion of Grief, Gen, Non-graphic character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paladinpalindrome/pseuds/paladinpalindrome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The youngest members of the fellowship remind Gandalf a little too closely of young dwarves on another quest, and the wizard finds himself buried again by the weight of the dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. my old forgotten friend

**Author's Note:**

> Written originally for the prompt here: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=6010689#t6010689
> 
> ""Maybe Gandalf is so annoyed by Merry and Pippin joining the fellowship because they remind him of Kili and Fili... and he doesn’t want them to die the same way."

Gandalf's heart sinks when he sees Merry and Pippin in Rivendell. At first, he doesn't think much on it, too preoccupied with ensuring both Frodo and the ring's safety that he brushes the troublesome two out of his mind without a second thought. 

The four little ones have gathered in Frodo's room, Merry and Pippin stomping around and causing havoc, ignoring Sam's pleas for quiet so "Mr. Frodo can rest, d'you mind?" Frodo is sitting up now, fingers ghosting back and forth from his shoulder to the ring around his neck, but he is laughing, and it's the sight of his face creased into a smile for the first time since Bilbo's birthday that halts Gandalf's reprimand in his throat. 

"You know, it was quite nice though, wasn't it? A bit of an adventure, at last!" A hobbit voice pipes up. 

"Oh, quite nice, Mr. Pippin!" Sam responds. "Running through forests, black riders screaming after us, Mr. Frodo getting - "

"Oy! He's _right there_ Sam, honestly." Merry cuts in, wicked grin firmly in place.

"I mean, really, a bit of common decency wouldn't be out of place."

"Sensitivity!"

 _"Sensitivity?"_ Sam squeals.

" _Brotherhood_ , really. We hobbits stick together!"

"I _have_ sensitivity! As I'm the one oo's been lookin' after 'im, lot of good you lot did!" 

Gandalf turns away, chuckling around his pipe from his chair in the corner, the familiar sight easing some of the unnameable tension that's settled in his chest since seeing the four hobbits together. _They're alright_ , he tells himself, _they're safe_. 

The smash of glass rings out, and his litany and the hobbits' jabbering comes to a full stop. Bilbo is standing still in the doorway, hand shaking, teacup shattered on the floor, frozen and aged in a way Gandalf can't quite get used to yet. 

"Bilbo?" Frodo asks quietly from the bed, "Are you feeling alright?" 

Bilbo starts, head jerking as if waking up from sleepwalking. "Yes, m'boy, quite. Just - just thinking about… my book. Yes! My book. Better… be off, then." He slowly backs out of the room, eyes glossy, not even noticing the glass he ground underneath his feet as he walked off. It's not until after his old friend has gone and the hobbits have started chatting again that Gandalf realizes that Bilbo had not even glanced at Frodo, his eyes had been glued to Merry and Pippin the entire time. 

\--  
 _  
It's a bit of an adventure, isn't it?_

_We've only made it to Bree, Kili._

_But still. It's more of the world than we've ever seen._

_After years of Balin's lessons in politics, anything'll seem exciting._

_Don't let him hear you say that._

_Thank Aule for Dwalin._

_Honestly._  
  
\--

Gandalf sleeps poorly that night, a half-remembered conversation echoing in his mind. 

It is nothing compared to Bilbo's dreams. The two die again a thousand times in his sleep, and when he wakes, he is not quite sure where and when he is. 

\--

"I will take it!"

Frodo's voice rings out, and Gandalf feels something jagged break off in his chest. He shuts his eyes against despair rising like bile from every corner of his body, and when he reopens them he feels a thousand years older. 

_You cannot protect him._

He pledges himself to the hobbit, pledges himself to another quest that might end in utter ruin. He looks at their swelling company, small, but faithful, he believes, and he allows himself this one moment in the golden sun in the house of the elves to embrace faith again. 

_I've found it is the small, everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keeps the darkness at bay._

Sam joins too, not unexpectedly, he thinks, from an ill-conceived hiding place. He bites back a smile at Lord Elrond's fond exasperation for the halflings. Twin shouts echo up into their circle, and Merry and Pippin scamper forward, cheeky and defiant and looking far too pleased with themselves. 

"You'll have to send us home, tied up in a sack to stop us!" 

Gandalf has half a mind to shake them to their senses, ring them out by their ears again, and he would if he thought for half a second it would make an ounce of a difference.  
 _  
Hold_ still, _brother!_

_You're not the one tied up in a sack, are you?_

_I was -_

_And so_ very _helpful to us too, how hard did Uncle have to kick you to shut you up?_

_Like you were any help -_

_LADS!_  
  
He tells himself it's just the meandering memory of an old, tired wanderer. 

\--

When the last preparations are complete, and the fellowship have said their farewells and are ready to leave their sanctuary, Gandalf seeks out his dearest old friend. He finds him sitting by a balcony overlooking the courtyard they are to depart from, chewing miserably on a pipe, and for a second memory hits him so hard over the head he nearly loses his hat. 

_Good morning._

_What do you mean?_  
  
"Good morning," Gandalf says kindly. 

Bilbo squints up at him, incredibly aged, and smiles sadly. "What do you mean?" he whispers, barely audible, and there are the beginnings of tears gathering in his eyes. 

"My dear friend," the wizard says, kneeling down to look the hobbit in the eye. "I will keep Frodo safe," he promises, and as it leaves his lips he hates himself for the lie, just as he knows that he could never give Bilbo any other answer. 

"Keep them _all_ safe, Gandalf." And it's not him he's seeing anymore, Gandalf knows, and just like the wizard Bilbo is praying, for safety, for forgiveness, for redemption and relief from the horrible business of being the survivors. Gandalf is silenced, humbled, and lets Bilbo have his tears as they embrace a final time. 

"Do you think of them often?" he asks, quietly. 

"Every day."


	2. memory it bites me, it pulls me, it kills me

It's been sixty years, and even so the memory is an ice-cold knife. Gandalf almost never says their names out loud, but in his head they ring like bells, roaring and building and crashing in his head, spelling out _failure, failure, failure_. He knows that their fate was not his fault, not preventable by his actions, or anyone's (except their uncle's, a sour part of his mind mutters, yet for all the dwarf's stubbornness and pride and mistakes Gandalf cannot bear to think ill of him now). He knows Bilbo worries about the four hobbits the way Thorin worried about his sister-sons, and he wonders if Bilbo curses his sanctuary in Rivendell, if his friend is afraid of failing like Thorin did, if he is afraid of losing them without even the blessing of dying alongside them. 

But Thorin was on the road with his nephews, keeping them in check, or at least attempting to, quelling their antics or arguing or laughter with a stern glare or a few words, whereas Merry and Pippin fling their weapons around the campsite and laugh and joke unchecked. Gimli joins in, heartily, shooting Legolas testy glances all the while as if trying to see how far under his skin he can get until the elf snaps at his thinly veiled barbs. Aragorn smiles indulgently, softly, already used to their antics on the road, and Boromir, surprisingly, drops all pretenses of pride around them, joking and pushing and teaching them to fight. The wizard remembers that Boromir too has a -  
 _  
\- brother, not my nursemaid," Fili bites out angry words but his voice is shaking._

_"Fili," his brother breathes, quietly, and ignoring the protest, bends to rest a soaked forehead against Fili's matted braids._

_They stand curled around each other in a corner of the cave, safe from the rock giants, shaking, clutching, breathing each other in._

_"I'm fine, Kili, I'm - we're alright, all of us."_

_"You almost - "_  
  
"- caught me that time, little one!" Boromir laughs as he ruffles Merry's hair, inciting an angry yell and an end to any sort of organized weapons practice for that night. Merry and Pippin charge the man, attempting to drag him down by his shirtsleeves into the dirt. Sam rolls his eyes as the company cheers, but it's only the lightness in Frodo's eyes as he watches his cousins and laughs that silences Gandalf's rebuke in his throat. 

\--

It's an unremarkable day not too far into their quest. They are out of the range of Rivendell but not yet burdened by more than a general weariness as they trek through the mountains. The fellowship is packing up their camp on a still morning that's perhaps a bit colder than the past few days. The road is getting more difficult, more taxing, and they are more tired than usual, and Pippin is just a mite louder than he is on most mornings. 

Gandalf leans on his staff a few strides from the camp, consulting Aragorn about the day's route when the chipper voice cuts into his thoughts for a third time, tempered only by the deeper responses of his brother's voice.  
 __  
Brother?  
  
The boy laughs loudly. 

Gandalf whirls around in frustration. "Kili!" He barks out into the chatter of the campsite. "Be quiet!"

The nine fall silent. Frodo stares at the wizard, puzzled, a faint light of recognition in his eyes, and Legolas shutters his own eyes closed in something like understanding. Gimli, on the other hand, looks like he is going to be sick. 

"Kili?" It's Sam who speaks, too loud and honestly confused in the silence. "What's that, Mr. Gandalf? That's Pippin there." But Frodo is there, tugging on Sam's sleeve and shaking his head before the hobbit can continue his questions, and at a quick command from Boromir they return to tying up their packs as the man tries to pick up conversation to cover the silence. Pippin shrugs nonchalantly and turns to continue his talk with Merry, who quells his chatter with a soft, "Quiet, Pip," as he stares at the wizard, who suddenly looks older and wearier than he can ever remember. 

\--

It's not until three days later when the incident gets brought up again. Weariness, weapons training for the hobbits, and the wizard's constant, stern presence had deterred them to that point. But it's a warm night, the company is in high spirits, and Gandalf is sitting a short distance from the campsite, visible only by the trailing smoke rings puffing from his pipe. Sam and Aragorn have finished preparing a decent meal for them all, and warm food is passed merrily around the fire, the sweet-smelling smoke trailing off into a starry sky. Gimli is uncharacteristically quiet, but Boromir is more than making up for his silence by regaling them all with tales of trouble and mischief in the courts of Gondor with his brother. _Brother_ , Merry thinks, remembering, _brother_ , and draws himself up to ask a flailing question. 

"Frodo," he starts, slowly, not knowing who else to ask, and loathe to interrupt Gandalf in his rare moment of peace and solitude. "Who is Kili?"

"Yes," Pippin pipes in, trying not to look as troubled as he feels, "You've been around him more. Do you know what he was talking about?"

Frodo shakes his head, slowly. "I've heard the name before," he mutters, eyes far away as he scourers his memory, "in Bilbo's stories. He's mentioned him." 

"What did he say?" Merry asks. 

"He was a prince, I think," Frodo continues, absently poking at the fire. "He - he didn't say a lot about him, he always just… closed off a bit when he talked about the members of the company that they lost." 

"So… he was a dwarf?" Pippin asks, "a dead dwarf?"

Gimli starts suddenly, fingers twitching for something in the empty air. 

"I think he was very dear to Bilbo," Frodo says quietly, voice smooth and soft in the darkness, the company hanging on his words like children listening to a story. "He had a brother, I think, but I can't remember his name - "

"Fili."

"What?" Pippin asks, looking around to see who had answered.

"Fili," Gimli repeats, drawing out the syllables in a mournful drawl. "His brother's name was Fili."

"You knew them?" Merry asks. 

"Aye." Gimli says shortly. He pulls out his pipe and puffs on it, glowering at the fire and not offering up another word to the conversation. 

"But why - why would he call me that?" Pippin asks. Nobody answers, but in the corner of his vision Legolas sees the haunted look that's taken up root in Gimli's eye as he stares silently into the flame. 

\--

"Did you know them well?" Legolas asks the next day, long legs slowing to match the dwarf's stocky stride. 

"Speak plainly, elf." Gimli grumbles in his general direction, not even favoring him with a glance, glaring ahead to where Merry is attempting to shove Pippin off a rock and is getting swatted around the head in return. 

"The dwarf princes they spoke of yesterday."

Silence.

"Were they dear to you?"

"Do not pander to me, _elf_!" Gimli growls, dwarfish fire spitting up in his chest, his hands itching for an axe or an anvil to smash something. Preferably the elf's insufferable pretty face. 

Legolas' eyes flash, and he catches his lip between his teeth to keep himself from snapping back at the dwarf, counting slowly under his breath. It doesn't help that he can see Aragorn's smirk out of the corner of his eye, who is all too aware at how narrowly Gimli has escaped a burst of the temper the elvish prince had been infamous for in his youth. But Legolas' anger has been tempered by time, his temper calmed, and it has not escaped his notice that Gimli's eyes now follow the two youngest hobbits as closely and mournfully as Mithrandir's. For all his long years he is a relative stranger to grief, but he remembers how his father looked after the dwarf prince fell, at the word that his line had been utterly desolated. It is a look he had seen mirrored in Gandalf's eyes, and now Gimli's. Poisoned bitterness and the deepest regret. 

"I have heard tales of them." He says evenly, careful not to color his words with the anger that is seeping away. 

Gimli snorts. "Tales? _Lies_ , more like. What true tales do elves speak of dwarves?"

"I remember them." Legolas raises his voice slightly, inflection earnest, though he's lost all sight of why exactly he is trying to reassure this stubborn dwarf of anything. "They were brought into my father's halls."

"Your father's _prison_ ," Gimli spits, whirling to face him at last. "Do not attempt to soothe me with your elvish _tales_ of the proud young princes who so _foolishly_ perished in needless battle. You forget _my_ father was there as well, and he has ensured that they are remembered well, and remembered _rightly_ by our people. None of your disgusting lies!" His chest is heaving under his heavy armor, and Legolas meets his eyes steadily. He might be a stranger to grief but he knows how to recognize it, knows not to trample on it, having seen the cool white anger on Thranduil's face when insult was paid to Thorin's name in his presence after the dwarf's death. 

_Fire begets fire_ , he thinks.

"They were brave," Legolas says, shortly, levelly. "Undaunted. They would have made your people proud."

He stalks off without another word, striding towards a high peak to take a lookout, leaving behind him a dwarf in stunned silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what was initially a work for the Hobbit fandom about the parallels between Fili & Kili versus Merry and Pippin delved into all these Fellowship feelings, examining the beginning of an understanding between Legolas and Gimli, and just all these ideas about Gandalf, and the grief and burdens he carries having lived so long and been tied the fates of so many. Diverged a bit from the prompt, but enjoy!


	3. your scarred heart

The fellowship had grown quieter during their recent travels, a stifling hush descending over their small party. Frodo seemed to grow tired all at once, pensive, thumbing the chain around his neck as Sam peers over his shoulder, ever watchful, and irritating most everyone with his queries of, _are you too tired, Mr. Frodo? You don't look well at all do ya_? Frodo's quiet reassurances and Merry and Pippin's jokes did little to assuage the concern that had taken up root in Sam's eyes. Aragorn had fallen into his traditional silence, pacing the periphery of their group, shrouded in his cloak like the ranger he was, watchful and quiet throughout the day. Legolas ran ahead, quick feet treading silently over grass and rock, the company's keen pair of eyes to scout the mountains ahead. He was glad for the distance, and the cool winds that whipped around them, it allowed him to clear his head, to think. He was too prideful to try another attempt at extending a hand of friendship, or at least understanding, to _certain_ members of the fellowship. Gandalf would never had stood for outright quarreling, yet the lines of tension and pride that ran through their ranks were not so easily avoided. But for all their differences, the company had reached a kind of comfortable silence in the last few days, aided in no small way by the lack of barbs flying between the elf and the dwarf. It hadn't escaped Legolas' notice that Gimli, the frequent perpetrator, had fallen silent in recent days, not only with him, but he was no longer fanning the flames of the hobbits' squabbles or trying to outdo Boromir in tales of ill-spent youth. He was determined not to care.

He slowed his pace and waited for his eight companions to trudge up through the mountain pass. Their pace was decently swift yet they were bowed slightly, under the weight and strain of more than just their visible burdens.The elf drew nearer to Gandalf to give his report of the hills ahead. 

"All is well, Mithrandir," he says, eyes roaming the company, counting, "There is no sight of friend or foe ahead." 

"Very well, then," the wizard replies, gruffly. "Shall we halt for a moment, then?"

Legolas nods, absentmindedly, but Gandalf turns and sees him eying Gimli again, brow furrowed and disgruntled, for an elf. The dwarf is trailing the hobbits, eyes on Merry and Pippin gallivanting too close to the edge of the mountain, worrying the edge of his axe with his thumb. 

Gandalf laughs, "The stubbornness of dwarves is an eternal affliction," he says wryly. 

"Do you have ears everywhere, then?" Legolas jests, but the wizard's face falls. 

"When you have lived as long as I have, and lost as many you learn to always look ahead, and behind, all at once."

"Be that as it may," Legolas continues, somewhat haughtily, "I do not have time for his childish moods - "

"Be careful, Legolas," Gandalf responds, chewing absentmindedly on his pipe, "Do not forget that between the two of them your father and Thorin Oakenshield nearly ruined a people with their pride. Many lives were lost, quite needlessly."

"That was not my father's doing - "

"Yes, but history is written by the victors, is it not? There was great fault on both sides." He trails off, and Legolas can see he is looking at the hobbits again, but cannot bring himself to ask the wizard why. "Your differences may be great, but do not forget what you have both pledged yourselves to. We have no time for trivial quarrels." 

Legolas eyes sweep the company, all so different, all so unprepared, and not for the first time he is bowed by the weight of what they are attempting to do. 

"I merely meant to ask him," he says softly, "How he knew … _them_. The dwarf princes. I gave no offense." 

Gandalf again is silent, and Legolas thinks he should put a moratorium on pensive silences in this company. 

"They were kin," the wizard responds at last, and Legolas can find no words for the grief that suddenly lines Gandalf's face. "He was young when they died, as were they… and Fili and Kili were quite dear to him. Dear to all of us." 

He says not another word, and eventually Legolas turns away, to start back down the hill. He has no reference for grief such as this, no touchstone in his long life to refer to, but as his watchful eyes scan the camp and sees Pippin and Merry jostling each other with their packs, it hits him with all the fierceness of a painful memory. He turns to face the wizard once more. 

"They - remind you of them, do they not? The hobbits?"

Gandalf is silent, and his face is turned away from Legolas into the wind. 

"Mithrandir," he says earnestly, and in his native tongue though he knows that the ears at the camp cannot hear them. " _They will not be lost to us_." 

He turns without waiting for an answer, expecting none, and steps down the hillside to start their fire. 

\--

Later, when the company is fed and the fire stoked, and the chatter is steadily winding down as weariness slides over them like a blanket, Legolas strides towards the edge of the cliff on the border of the tiny clearing they have found, towards the small figure that is sitting there. 

He approaches silently and clears his throat once so as not to startle the dwarf. 

"My apologies," he says, "if I have given offense to you, or your kin." He silently extends an open palm, holding out a small parcel of pipe weed, detestable stuff indeed, and truth to be told he had nicked it off Pippin that evening. 

Gimli nods once, stiffly, and takes the parcel delicately, careful not to touch his hand. He lights his pipe, inhales deeply and coughs, and in the ensuing smoke turns to see that the elf is seated next to him on the ground. Merry's laughter drifts over to them from the center of the camp. 

"They too would have found this a merry adventure," Gimli says. And the elf and the dwarf sit in silence on the edge of the hill, short legs and long draped over the cliff face, and they greet the twilight in silence and amity for the first time.


	4. torn and tired

The fellowship crowds beneath the silver walls of Moria, cold and wet and shivering, with no small measure of fear thrumming through their hearts. Another door, another cursed dwarf door, unopened, impenetrable, and Gandalf splays weathered hands over rock and stone and whispers old forgotten words underneath his breath, and more than a few frustrated curses. 

_speak, friend, and enter_

He regrets yelling at Pippin - again, for a moment, but there's no sense in pandering to the hobbit now, there will be time for that later, far later when they're through these stalwart doors and safely inside the ancient halls of the dwarves. Not that he is looking forward to whatever new animosity Gimli and Legolas can drudge up between them in Balin's halls. 

_speak, friend, and enter_

The fellowship have drifted to settle on the banks of the dark water, no fire, no light but the curling runes weaving around the door, demarcating the borders as well as the weariness on the company's faces. From behind him Gandalf can hear twin splashes, and before he can reproach them again he sees that Aragorn has already taken Merry and Pippin in hand.

 _Oh, it's quite simple_ , he had told Merry. 

Simple.

"It's a riddle," Frodo says. His clear voice cuts into Gandalf's thoughts, and silences his muttering, and he thinks he sees Bilbo in Frodo's eyes, his curiosity, his brightness, his boldness, and not for the first time he prays. 

He prays for so many things.

"What's the elvish word for friend?" Frodo asks, and Gandalf almost scoffs out loud before he is caught again in his memory, of a braided gold beard and the straightforwardness of youth and _if there's a key, there must be a door_. 

_Mellon_.

The door opens, and Gandalf smiles to himself and thinks that perhaps the simplest things are always the hardest. 

\--

In what feels like ages later, they camp again, in the elvish wood. They do not speak of their lost member, but their faces are tired and worn with more than just their journeys. Legolas walks silently through their bundles of bags and cloaks, noting matching tear streaks and bowed heads, and thinks that at last he understands grief. He thinks of Gimli's mournful cries at the tomb, of Frodo's screaming and Aragorn's stricken face, of Mithrandir's own eyes as he fell below with the beast. 

He thinks of light, bright light after so long in the dark caverns, of tears and the burden of loss, which froze him in his tracks upon the mountainside. They are safe now and he does not know what he can do, for any of them, or how to ease the tightening in his own chest. 

_Gandalf's death was not in vain_ , his sharp ears had overheard Boromir say earlier while they clustered in tight groups, Aragorn off to the side entreating with Haldir. He thinks it is a shallow comfort. 

_You carry a heavy burden, Frodo._

They are eight, now, and silent for the first time. A wounded camp, the bitter remainder. It was always Gandalf that gruffly quieted them and grumbled at the young ones to go to sleep, but now they are hushed, silenced in his absence. 

Legolas had passed Gimli, feet silent against the bed of the forest floor, when he turned back to where the dwarf sat, back against a tree, fingering his pipe and the braids Legolas had never questioned the meaning of. He thinks of the tomb left behind in the dark, stained with the blood of goblins and trolls and wonders if the stalwart dwarf carries the heaviest burden of all. He stops. This at least he can do.

"I am sorry for your loss, Gimli," he says, "For your kin. For all of them." And it is an apology and forgiveness and a recognition of many old wounds, incurred years before either of their births. 

Gimli holds his eyes and nods, without a trace of mockery, and something like understanding passes through their eyes. And underneath the trees of Lothlorian, shrouded by grief and exhaustion and despair, a thousand year old wound began to heal, and an elf and a dwarf looked at the other for the first time without an ounce of hatred. And the son of Thranduil and the kin of Thorin met the night and the darkness and the days ahead in a peace that had never come to touch their elders. 

_Don't carry the weight of the dead._

Legolas thinks it is a lesson that the wizard never learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is mainly just heavy on all the Legolas - Gimli feels! The more I rewatch the movies the more struck I am by their friendship, especially in light of the elf-dwarf relations we see in The Hobbit. I mean I've seen these movies countless times and I always see something new about the two of them and their friendship and it just always gets to me. It's just such an unprecedented thing in their respective families' histories and it fascinates me and I love it. And I was thinking about it, and how they go from sniping at each other when they first get to Moria to joining arms to go after the hobbits at the end of FOTR, and of course they come together after losing Boromir, and for the common purpose of rescuing Merry and Pippin, but I think it must have started before that. So after losing Gandalf, their leader, and kind of touchstone in all of this that grief throws all of the fellowship tighter together, and unlocks something in them that allows Gimli to embrace his awe of Galadriel and show respect to the elves and kind of whittles down Legolas' pride a bit also. 
> 
> Oh my god, what have I done. I honestly just started this note to say there is just a short epilogue remaining, but hey! enjoy my mini rant, and thanks for reading, guys :)


	5. epilogue: mine own keeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any familiar dialogue is kindly borrowed from _The Return of the King_ film.

They are all fragmented now, more so than they had ever imagined. The fellowship is splintering and separate, and though Gandalf has returned, white and new, harbinger of hope, that healing balm is a small comfort in light of another tear in their fabric. Now it is Merry and Pippin's turn to be carried off, and the wizard's heart aches to see it though he knew all along this day would come. He must go to Gondor, and Pippin must go with him, and he will give no false words of comfort to them or anyone else as he rushes them to the stables. 

He thinks of Fili and Kili, so like and so unlike these two, and of all the mortals in this world he is guiding another entwined pair again. Even after passing through death Gandalf is bowed again under the weight of the dead as well as the living, and try as he might he cannot cast them off, or shave away the feelings of blame, of guilt, of so many lost and forgotten. He thinks of the brothers, doubles to these hobbits, living together, dying together, buried together, and the resolute grief on Merry's face and the terrified confusion on Pippin's is too much to bear, and he spurs Shadowfax on before they can finish their desperate goodbyes. 

\--  
 _  
He cannot ask Aragorn for comfort, but he feels old, and tired, and crushed under the weight of all the ones before whom he had taught, and guided, and sent away. He looks toward a burning horizon and remembers other young faces, gleeful and ignorant of their fates, brothers sent to a bloody grave by the pride of their uncle. How easy it is, he thinks, to recognize another's folly, and he fears that sixty years later, he has made the same mistake. He wonders how much Frodo really understood, how much he really knew of where this journey would take him, all those months ago in the peace of Rivendell, when he shut his eyes and let his old friend's child rise and go to war._

_"What does your heart tell you?" The words are paltry and grasp at hope as uselessly as the wizard does, but he needs them._

_"That Frodo is alive," he tells the ranger, who looks everyday more and more a king, and he clings to those words and the tiny light they spark within hin. He begs forgiveness in his head, and he hopes as he has never hoped before._

_Yes. Yes, he's alive._  
\--

It seems it is far after, yet is not so long at all, when they are gathered together again, in a white, bright room, watching the ring bearer awaken, and the joy is fragile and tangible and overwhelming. He thinks of what a small thing, and what a great thing, it is to see Gimli's raucous clapping, and Legolas' footsteps so close behind the dwarf's, and to see Aragorn smile again, clothed in the raiment of kings. 

They number one fewer in this room, with many fallen outside of these doors, on the steps of the city and the plains below. Yet they are alive, all four halflings, and it's a thing as miraculous as the destruction of the ring itself. And Gandalf thinks on the hardiness of hobbits and the stubbornness of dwarves and that night he dreams. He dreams of a fair head and dark hair bent together in eternal youth and love and laughter, and mischievous eyes that never grew bitter or weary, or cold, and when he wakes he is a much lighter man than he has been since long before setting off for a mountain with thirteen dwarves and a single daring hobbit. 

\--

No one was there to witness it but them. A desperate cry, scavenging eyes, and he is bent over the other, crying and wounded. 

"Are you going to leave me?"

"No, Merry, I'm going to look after you."

They meet again breathing life and hope onto each other's lips.   


\-- 

_No one is witness to the moment but them. A desperate cry, scavenging eyes, and he is bent over the other, crying and wounded._

_"Don't leave me."_

_"Never, brother."_

_They die breathing promises on each other's lips._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that's finally done. I sincerely apologize for all of your hearts and feelings. I've had that last scene written since the day after I started writing this thing, that scene in ROTK with Merry and Pippin at Pelennor is just the most heartbreaking thing and my angsty soul couldn't help stretching out the parallels even more. And I just really wanted to give Gandalf some kind of resolution / absolution almost? Because he's much more than the silent-leader type, he's so actively invested, and has been around for so long and it just really struck me, because how many times has he failed in the past, or lost the people he'd been guiding, or had to watch them fail? Super-read Tolkienists probably actually know the answer to that, but I am long overdue for a re-reading of the books. Anyway I just wanted to give him a moment of peace, after all of that. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading, I have loved and appreciated each and every one of your comments, they leave me smiling ridiculously at my laptop when I am writing at all hours of the night instead of sleeping. I will try to get some direct responses out to you guys :)


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